


Your Journey on the Ground

by TheCuddleMonster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon, Clexa Endgame, F/F, FIx It, Season 3, angst? maybe, starts up right in 3.01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuddleMonster/pseuds/TheCuddleMonster
Summary: Preface:The ground is terrible.She misses the sky.Clarke had planned to serve the rest of her sentence on Earth in solitude, but after only six months her self-imposed isolation is cut short when she finds herself dragged into a war 100 years in the making. It forces her to confront her demons, the Sky people, and Lexa.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea of a way season three could have gone. There were a lot of things they could have done with it but unfortunately they path they choose was less than satisfactory. This is for all my pals who want some closure. Here's hoping you like this a little better.
> 
> Translations for Trig are in the notes at the end 
> 
> Thanks for reading:)
> 
>  
> 
> 3-19-18. After much revision I have made some changes. I know where I want to go with this and should post the next chapter soon. Probably.

  
  


It starts out as uncomfortable nipping but rapidly evolves into ravenous biting. Small, occasional shivers mutate into constant, rolling tremors as her body clings, desperately, to what little heat it can maintain. A glacial burn gnaws through her veins. It stings, deep, into her tissues and settles in her bones. It licks down her spine and sinks into every fiber of her being. Numbness barbs sharp in her nerves so painfully that her hands and feet, now swollen and purple, no longer feel like her own.

 

She wishes she could be left to marinate in her suffering in solitude accompanied only by the  invasive thoughts she has accustomed herself to in her self-imposed isolation. Instead, she is subject to the orchestra of soft sounds that echo loudly into the belly of whatever hell they’ve thrown her in.

 

They.

 

Who are they?

 

What do they want?

 

She’d seen it coming, in hindsight, recognized his face lurking inside shadows one too many times around town.

 

She should have left, but Niylah’s warm hands and filthy words had easily persuaded her to stay.

 

She’d tried to fight him but the high of release and the tranquilizer of sleep still thick in her blood made her body heavy and her head light. She’d been a far too easy target. With little more than her fruitless struggle, he stole her from her carefully constructed fantasy. Near effortlessly and in no time at all he’d dragged her across lands she’d spent the better part of four months getting away from, thrown her in a cave, or something, and left her chained up with a bag tied to her head.

 

Where ever she is, it’s cold and damp, and the ground is hard . At least Mt. Weather had afforded her a bed.

 

She can barely breathe, but at the very least the puffs of her own breath kept her face warm enough to maintain the last shred of her will to live intact.

 

She has no idea how long she’s been there. She doesn’t know if it is day or night, or when her brutish captor will return, or if he will at all. Only the tingling in her legs and arms that creeps slowly, unforgivingly higher is any indicator of how long she’s been there.

 

He had scars on his face and touches of white paint under his eyes. _Azgeda_. He had confirmed as much himself. Is he taking her to the Queen? Will she kill her? Will her head be sent to her mother or…

 

 _Stop._ Stop thinking.

 

Her only comfort, if it even is one, are the distant sounds of voices. She has to strain past the cacophony of noises rattling in her head, but they’re there.

 

A camp or a village, maybe.

 

She had tried to ignore them. Worrying more about who she may end up revealing herself to than her desire to be free. But after what seems like days her desperation wins out. She screams for them, for help. After hours of it, her throat is raw and  her voice gives out. Hope that they will hear her goes with it until the random echoes turn into paced footsteps and she lets relief spark in her belly. But one kick, hard to her ribs, proves they can hear her, they just aren't there to help.

 

After that, the presence of consciousness begins to fade, even the darkness of the space inside her bag becomes thick and fuzzy. The voices turn into a fixated ringing between her ears. When she finally succumbs to the waves of dizziness, she isn’t sure if it is her body that gives up or her mind.  

  
  
  


The beautiful thing about life is its symmetry. It’s poetic, really.

 

A kick had put her out of her forsaken misery and a kick brings her, jarringly, back into it.

 

She is about  to groan some sort of half-hearted protest but it gets caught in her throat as she is forcefully dragged onto her knees

 

“Wanheda, com ai don swega klin.”  He tears the bag away and she is met by a glaring brightness and a cast of  shadows

 

For a second she can’t focus, can't see, but then, “Clarke.”  

 

She recognizes that prayer. It has been whispered to her a thousand times before.

 

She’s the first thing she really sees, the only thing, in days. She had expected the Ice Queen. Would have preferred it had she known this would be the alternative.

 

This is worse. This is far worse.

 

Months.

 

Months she’s spent drinking and fucking Commander Lexa out of her mind. Now here she is, in all her indignant glory, like some sadistic God summoned to unearth everything Clarke has agonizingly put to the grave.

 

“The deal was for you to bring her to me unharmed.” Lexa’s voice carries a dangerous lilt.

 

“Well then you should learn to keep your bitch on a shorter leash.” he sneers at Clarke, apparently tone deaf or stupid.

 

“Prince Roan. I would like to see you seated on your mother’s throne. Someday soon. Please don’t force me to end your life before you’ve even stepped foot back into your palace.” Though she remains mostly stoic the sharpness in her eyes is enough to convey the severity of her threat.

 

“Apologies Heda, but she didn’t exactly come easy.”  He glares at her with the memory of her two poorly veiled assassination attempts burning in his eyes.

 

“I’m sure.” she doesn’t bother to concern herself with his woes. “ I’m told your mother’s been sending scouts to Polis.”

 

“Only a  bluff, I’m sure.” In Lexa’s presence he cowers, no longer the hulking man who dragged Clarke around in chains. Just a small man, bowing before a far greater woman.

 

“You know how I feel about threats, Roan.”

 

“I’ll send message to Ronto. Tell him to back off.”

 

“Good, Now, get out of my sight. All of you.”  she casts a dismissive glance over her shoulder.

 

Clarke, only then, spares her attention to the other half dozen people with her, two familiar, frowning faces among them.

 

Indra leads the way out. Roan huffs but follows wordlessly as do most of the others. All but two.Clarke recognizes Ryder, but the other is a man Clarke had never seen before. Tattoos sit like a crown on his sheared head, and he wears a scowl Clarke can tell he favors. Not nearly as bulky or threatening as the men she knew Lexa to keep in her company, but certainly no less angry. He is made less intimidating underneath his thick robes that look more like pajamas than appropriate winter wear.

 

“Heda. I-” his voices holds the gruffness typical of Grounders.

 

“Gonot raun, Titus.” the set of her shoulders challenges him to defy her.

 

Unwilling to accept, he lowers his head once and slips away as quietly as the others.

 

Her gaze softens when it finds Clarke. She stands there, paler now, with cheeks only the slightest bit hollower than they were in the crisp air of Autumn. She’s remained mostly the same, her eyes especially, still smoldering with the emotions they betray.

 

She crouches in front of Clarke, and Ryder takes his place, like a shadow, not a step behind her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would go so far north. I would have sent Indra but you were too close to the Ice Nation border and I had to keep you away from the Queen.”

 

Anger sparks in her gut and boils hot enough to melt the shock of her brow into a glare vile enough it could kill most men, but words remain churning in her gut.

Unfortunately, instead of dropping dead as is intended Lexa’s facade as the Commander only crumbles further. The faults in her mask begin to fall away in pieces to reveal a girl Clarke thought she knew, a girl she let herself believe had cared about her. It serves only to intensify her anger.

 

“Clarke, you can't run away forever. Your people need you.” she tries for stern but the worry that crosses her face as she looks Clarke over is poorly concealed. The Commander wraps her fingers around the chains that shackle her hands together and keep her prisoner. With a forceful jerk, she snaps the metal links like a child might tear through paper.  

 

With her hands free Clarke does what she’d spent a perverse amount of time fantasizing about (and sweet Father Lord does it feel good). Her fist connects beautifully with Lexa’s jaw and the crunch of her bones is the most pleasurable thing Clarke had experienced since she landed on Earth. For all of two seconds, until she realizes the bones crunching are the ones in her hand.

 

“Ah, fuck! Fuck you!”  Clarke grinds her teeth against the ache in her hand.

 

Ryder is swift in putting distance between Lexa and any more of Clarke’s failed assault attempts. He grabs her roughly around the collar and slams her into the smooth wall behind them.

 

Lexa exhales a heavy breath and hefts herself off the ground. “Honestly, Clarke. I see your time alone has made you no less foolhardy.”

 

Her hand is throbbing and she’d be lucky if it isn’t broken. She wants nothing more than to cradle her aching knuckles but she won’t surrender to Lexa. She’d rather die. “You bitch. I swear to God.” Ryder digs his fists into her throat. It does little to quiet her rage. “I’ll fucking kill you.” she chokes out.

 

“That isn’t necessary, Ryder.”

 

He drops her to her feet but keeps his body firmly pressed against her to keep her from moving anywhere. His body heat reminds her own of its own alarming lack thereof and against her volition she shivers.

 

Lexa sighs again and runs a hand through her hair.  “Find her some dry clothes and get her in front of a fire. I have to be in Ton D.C. and I need her alive until I can return her to her mother. I trust you can handle her until tomorrow morning without tying a bag to her head.”

 

“ _Sha Heda_.”

 

She gives him a curt nod then disappears around a passageway that must lead deeper into the cave. But as looks more carefully around the poorly lit space she begins to recognize the faded blue and yellow paint of subways she’s been in before.

 

“You should show Heda some respect Skygirl.” he leads her around collapsed pillars and up the degraded- though they could hardly still be called-stairs.

 

“Fuck the Commander.” her face twists at the word. “And fuck you too.”

 

His only answer is to grab her roughly (not like he is capable of doing anything any other way) under the arm and drags her out into the light of day where the others mill about waiting for them.

 

“Where’s Heda.” the man called Titus speaks before she can rightly breathe.

 

“She’s gone to the underground. She asked Wanheda be changed to dry clothes and kept warm.”

 

“Fine. See to it then.” He sighs and she can see where Lexa gets it from. “. You three go find Heda. Indra, ride to Arkadia and tell the Sky People they will meet us in Polis in two days.The rest with me.”

 

“Sha, Fleimkepa.” They answer in tandem and breakaway to their assignments. Ryder pushes her towards a post where a  group of horses are tied up.

 

“I can’t trust you. We will ride together.” he hoists her onto a tan colored horse and takes the extra precaution of tying her hands to the reigns. It makes her even more aware of the ache in her fist.

 

“Funny how you think I’m the one who can’t be trusted, but happily serve a piece of shit that abandons her allies.” she refuses to give him the satisfaction of watching her suffer.

 

He gives her another shove, a warning. “You're lucky Heda is as kind as she is. Many leaders would have you killed for your insubordination.” his threat is muted by the cloak he wraps around her shoulders.

 

She tries to shake it off but he ties it, too tightly, around her neck. “Oh yeah, Lexa is a real peach.” She watches him untie the horse from its post and takes his place, awkwardly, behind her.

 

“You will address her as _Heda Leksa_ or _Heda_. Commander if you must.” he kicks the horse into a steady gait.

 

“How about Head up her own ass?”  

 

The answering shove isn't gentle. “Heda will not be here to protect you forever. You should pick your enemies more wisely.”

 

“If I needed Heda Lexa’s help I would be dead inside Mt Weather.”

 

“You hold a grudge like a _gofa_ over a lost toy.”

 

“I can’t stand you people.” she rolls her eyes.

 

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

 

She wants to antagonize him further but has spent enough time in grounder villages to know patience isn’t as plentiful as broken collar bones. She does groan every now and again just to make sure his level of annoyance never drops below very, but for the most part keeps quiet.

 

She doesn’t recognize the land they’re in. Nothing looks familiar. The forest is dense and still mostly bare with a few pines scattered around,  and the ground is still predominantly hidden under layers of packed snow. The sun’s vain attempts to thaw the frozen earth are veiled by plumes of clouds looming low in the atmosphere, ready to add to another fresher coating. There were many times she’d wondered if she’d ever be rid of the ice that melted in her boots if she’d live to see the buds of spring bursting with life from the carcass of winter but now she can only dread what lies ahead.

 

It takes nearly an hour to reach camp. She feels they haven’t actually gone incredibly far but Ryder was sure to take so many narrow winding paths into the densest parts of the forest she has completely lost track of what direction they’ve even come from. Riding bear back for so long only antagonizes her already sore muscles. Her neck is stiff, her hand is throbbing, and days of not eating and hardly sleeping begin to take their toll. At least if death is to find her through Lexa it will come quickly at the end of a sword.  

 

The camp is some fifty people strong. And each of them takes a turn to stare at her. Ryder remains seemingly unfazed as he trudges her through to a makeshift stable, where they meet a lanky boy with wheat-colored hair brushing the horses.

 

He looks miserable and uninterested until he notices them. Then his eyes light up like the sky at dawn. “Din em laik Wanheda op?”

 

“Shof op goufa.”  Ryder scolds him as he dismounts the horse

 

“Em ste, din em op?” The grin cracking his face open isn't intimidated by Ryder’s austerity. He isn't even paying attention to him anymore.“Heya ai laik A-” Ryder lands the same hard shove on the boy’s shoulder that she is quickly getting accustomed to before returning to the task of untying Clarke. She can’t mask the cringe when sensation seeps back into her hand.

 

“Hon fisa op.” He isn’t gentle yanking her from the horse, but this sort of passive aggressive tenderness seems to be all most grounders are capable of.  

 

“Em ogud?” the boy flips mussy hair away from, oddly, concerned eyes.

 

“Sha, em ponch Heda daun.”  

 

His previous mirth returns riding on a hearty laugh. “Sha, em liak Wanheda foshou!”

 

“Em laik branwoda. Hon fisa op, Aden. Nau.”

 

He ducks his head dropping the brush he’d been using and runs off toward the heart of camp.

 

Ryder takes Clarke around the arm, once the horse is secured he and leads her in the same direction as the boy. The people who mill about camp were nothing like any of the grounders she had met in the villages and towns. These men and women are all brawny and brooding, so actually, not terribly different. They all don black, almost matching coats with red sashes tied around their waists or hanging from their necks. None of them were covered in the standard layer of grime or dirt. People of rank no doubt.

 

“We’ll get you warm first then have that hand looked at.”

 

“I don’t need your help.”

 

“Good. I’m not offering.”  He pulls her inside one of the tents. “Don’t try anything stupid.” His hands are rough patting her down and a little too liberal in their search but they prevail. He rids her of all three of her knives with a satisfied smirk. “Everyone here is trained to kill stupid.” And then, just like before, she’s alone again. Still cold and hurting worse than before.

 

“Fuck my life.” she groans

 

Her body can't handle sitting on the floor if she had wanted, so she shuffles over to the bed in the corner of the relatively small space. The furs are dirty and smell like they’ve never been washed but they are warm and that is more than she’s had in awhile. There isn’t really much else inside the tent. A small desk, a chest, and the bed. She can see the shadows of two men move to the front of the tent and the wide stance they take up doesn’t indicate they’ll be leaving soon.

 

She doesn’t have enough time to settle with her thoughts when the boy walks in. “Moba. Ai don lid you dina an bakkova in.” He holds out his arms for a long moment. “Pro, teik in.”

 

“Moshof.” she sits up slowly.

 

His smile grows wider, “Yu chich Trigedesleng op.”

 

“Yeah but,not very well.”

 

He laughs again. How could anyone be this happy? Why isn’t he broken, yet?  “That’s okay. As long as you’re trying. Trying is the first step to succeeding, or, you know, something like that. I’m Aden by the way.”  He places several layers of clothes and a tray of food on her lap.

 

“Clarke.”

 

“Yeah, I know who you are.” She braces for another slew of questions about the Mountain but instead is bombarded with so many rapid fire questions that she can’t answer any.“You’re like an astronaut, right? Or are you more like an alien? What is space like? Is it cold? What color is the sky really? Do you know anyone who’s ever been to the moon? What are space stations like? Is the Earth really 70% water? That’s what I read in my books but I’ve seen an awful lot more land than water. Leksa says it's cause I haven’t seen anything yet.”  The mere mention makes her spine rigid.

 

The corners of his smile falter.

 

“Oh sorry. Your hand must be bothering you. The healer will be here in a minute. You should eat.” Then he brightens again, “You shouldn’t punch Leksa. She’s got a hard head. And body.”

 

He’s gone before she can work up any sort of response.

 

His eyes are so earnest,  so bright she thinks she might be able to pull sapphires from them. Just a boy. Not half the size of the next smallest man. Thin and lanky. His hair is only long enough for the beginning of one braid. What is he doing there?

 

The food looks terrible. And she thinks about refusing it but a painful protest from her stomach has her tucking into it eagerly. A few crusts of bread, a hunk of cured meat, and some sort of starch she doesn’t care to identify. It is pretty good, it turned out.

 

She likes the clothes. But whoever they belong to obviously isn’t very chesty, so it’s a snug fit and the wool is a little too itchy to be comfortable but like her bed they’re warm and she prefers them to the outfit she’s been wearing for the past 2 weeks.

 

Full-bellied and comfortable all the aches and pains are much easier to tolerate. She flexes her hand and decided it isn’t broken maybe sprained but she’d avoided serious injury. So, her day could have technically been more shitty. Not long after, the healer does show up and she confirmed Clarke’s diagnosis but decides to massage a warm salve across her knuckles for a speedy recovery, before wrapping the swollen hand tightly in a clean-enough bandage.

 

And for the third time they leave her.

 

She waits. And Waits.

 

She thinks maybe Ryder will come back, or Aden. But the shadows in the tent grow long and then short again as the distant sun makes its descent across the sky.

 

This was definitely worse than the cave. At least there she was delirious enough to not be bogged down by any rational thoughts. Here she’s stuck with them. She tries listening to the activities of camp but voices grow quiet as the walked past her tent. The wind blows against the side of it and it relaxed her at first but after a few hours it picks up and turns into howling. It makes her head spin.

 

At least now she knows who the elusive they are.

 

Still, has no idea what the hell they want.

 

Why is she taking her to her mother? Since when is she making deals with her friends? Why are they even dealing with her at all? Why would Lexa be doing her mother’s bidding? Is her mother really even involved? Could Lexa want her dead? Will her mother condone that? What type of sick person feeds and clothes someone they are going to kill? Or does she have something else planned entirely?

 

She spends the evening in most the same way she had spent the day. Simmering on the heat of her frustration, which only grows as the hours press on. And they do press on, however slowly. It gives her time to curse whichever deity has chosen to spite her. She does that for a good while, too angry for sleep, to tired for much of anything else. Had the Ark’s solitary confinement policy not prepared her so well she might have begun to lose her mind.  Some time between the last bit of light being extinguished from camp and the faint echo of drums though the woods Clarke falls asleep, she’s not sure when, but she is thankful for the abyss.

  
  
  


She wakes with a start, thoroughly surprised to find this isn’t some perverted dream her brain conjured up in a drunken stupor. She is in Lexa’s custody and painfully sober.

 

She’s up early. The dim light cast by winter sun casting its filter across the still sleeping sky. The two shadows at the front of her tent are still there and she can already hear the faint sounds of metals banging and fires crackling. So much for walking out the front door, so she tries something else.

 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” They don’t answer, or move, or even acknowledge her. “Okay I guess I’ll just shit on the floor.” Still, they remain unmoving and she steps closer to the front of the tent,  “Can I borrow your shirt to wipe my ass with?”

 

“I wouldn't bother them.” Aden smiles poking his head through the opening. She can see Ryder hovering not to far behind him outside the tent. “Liam and Alastair. You'll probably be in their company for a while so maybe pick your battles.” he takes a step back towards the men. “You guys take a break we’ll watch her for a while.”

 

They don’t hesitate.

 

Clarke's expression darkens. “Maybe everyone else should stop provoking me.”

 

“I brought you some more food. I’m sorry it’s not much we don’t have many rations. Did you sleep okay.”

 

“No. Where’s Lexa.”

 

“I dunno. She’s pretty dedicated to her work out so I guess anywhere between 3 to 25 miles from here?”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah that woman loves cardio. Once she-”

 

“She takes people prisoner and then just leaves them to go for a jog?”

 

“Well it's really more of a dead sprint, and you aren’t a prisoner.”

 

“Good. Then, I guess I’ll be getting the hell out of here.” Clarke makes a move to step around the boy.

 

The hand he places on her shoulder is far stronger than she expect from a boy with noodles for arms. “But you aren’t exactly free either.”

 

She peaks outside to make sure the guards are still gone. The boy has a small knife hanging from his belt. SHe thinks with it she can take Ryder. Almost without thinking she grabs the arm holding her back. She tries not to think about how she’s about to kill another child but her fantasies are cut short before they can turn into anything but. She’s aware the ground is no longer beneath her feet but it isn’t until her back thuds against it that she realizes she’s been bested.

 

She’s ready to feel the cool press of metal against her neck or to be tied up again but instead she’s met by the chime of his laugh. Again. “I mean your form isn’t terrible but your eyes give you completely away.”

 

The commotion quickly brings Ryder into the tent with two blades drawn and Clarke realizes with a sinking feeling that she isn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. If at all.

 

He must not consider her a threat because he sheathes both of his weapons.

 

Aden twists her arm behind her its not jarringly uncomfortable but gets his point across. _Don’t move._ He settles most of his weight on his knee which he has pressed-firmly- between her shoulder blades.

 

“Jesus H. Fuck. How are you this heavy?” she wheezes.

 

“You are weak.” Ryder answers.

 

"Don’t feel bad. I eat a hearty diet.” She cranes her head over her shoulder to see him smiling. He lets go over her arm but doesn’t get off her. “I can tell why Lexa likes you.”

 

Clarke barks out a humorless laugh, “Is this how she treats people she likes. By kidnapping them.”

 

Aden, predictably, laughs again, it's starting to grate her nerves.  “Well to be fair,she doesn't have a lot of experience.” his eyes widen at her own comment. “Don’t tell her I said that and I won't tell her you jumped me.”

 

Clarke grunts and struggles against the weight of a gangly not-quite-a-teenager on her back. She hasn't felt this helpless since she was on the Ark. “If I never talk to her for the rest of my life it will be too soon.”

 

“Sorry, but I don't think you're gonna get that lucky. She’ll probably be here soon.” he sounds more amused than sympathetic.

 

“What the hell does she want?”

 

“You think she tells me stuff? Come on we can find out together. Will you go quietly or do I gotta drag you.”

 

“I don't like you.”

 

“That’s okay. I’ll grow on you.”

 

“You’re growing on me like a tumor.”

 

“Okay that almost hurt my feelings.”

 

“Lets go, Aden. Bring the girl. I’m growing tired of babysitting her.” Ryder

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Wanheda, kom ai don swega klin.-Wanheda, as I promised.  
> Heda Ai-Commander I-  
> Gonot raun, Titus.- Leave, Titus  
> Sha Heda- Yes Commander  
> Sha Fliemkepa-Yes Flamekeeper  
> goufa-child  
> Din em laik Wanheda op-IS she the Commander of Death  
> Shof op, Aden- Shut up Aden  
> Em ste, din em op?- She is isn't she?  
> Heya Ai liak A-Hi I'm A-  
> Hon fisa op-FInd a healer  
> Em ogud? Is she okay?  
> Em ponch Heda daun.-She punched the Commander  
> Sha, em liak Wanheda foshou!- Yeah she is definatly Wanheda  
> Em laik branwoda. Hon fisa op, Aden. Nau- She is stupid. Find a healer, Aden. Now.  
> Moba. Ai don lid you dina an bakkova in.-Sorry. I brought you food and clothes.  
> Pro, teik in.-Please take it.  
> Moshof.-Thank you.
> 
> I used trigedasleng.info/ for all my translation needs and filled in the blanks when I needed to.  
> Okie doke. So I hope you liked it:)  
> Let me know what you think.  
> :D


End file.
